55. Mira

55

MIRA

"There aren't guards at the gates. Why aren't there guards at the gates? Shouldn't there be guards at the gates?" I scan the wrought-iron fencing. "Are there even cameras?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" Zane drawls sarcastically. "We're dropping Aiden off for preschool, not a prison sentence."

I scowl at him. "That wasn't funny."

"It wasn't a joke."

"Neither is security!"

Aside from our trail walks the last few days, dropping Aiden off for his first day of preschool is the first time we've been out in public in over a week. Since the first of many, many articles started popping up online.

At first, they all focused on Zane and Aiden. But soon enough, the comments on every article were filled with speculation about the dark-haired mystery woman in Zane's life.

She's the kid's nanny. No way she's hot enough to be with Zane.

His son has her nose. That's definitely the mom. Does anyone know if they're still together?

Do you see the shoulders on her? Built like a linebacker. Zane hired a female bodyguard for his son.

Aside from making it clear that every woman on planet Earth wants to get with the man I'm currently fucking and giving me a serious complex about the width of my shoulders, the comments were catnip to the internet sleuths.

At this point, half of the people clicking on those links think I'm a Russian mail-order bride and the other half think Zane and I had a secret elopement and adopted Aiden after we found him on the front porch of our vacation rental.

I can't stop myself from scrutinizing the face of every person we pass. Teachers line the sidewalk, smiling and waving for the big first day welcome, but my stomach is in knots.

"How are you feeling?" Zane asks.

Nauseous , I think. But he isn't actually talking to me.

"You said Jalen would be here." Aiden fists his hands nervously in his shirt. He's shuffling so much that his light-up shoes aren't even registering his steps.

That's enough reason for me to lead him right back to the car and out of these gates. He isn't ready for this, clearly. Let's go home and bolt the door.

Zane claps a hand on his shoulder. "He will be. I'm not sure where he is now, but he's going to be in your class. You'll see him when you get?—"

"There he is!" Aiden shrieks. He cups his hands around his mouth. "Jalen!"

Jemma and Reeves are standing in the grass, snapping a picture of Jalen in front of the school sign. But as soon as he hears his name, Jalen dodges teachers like traffic cones and sprints for Aiden. They collide and flop onto the grass, giggling.

"Godspeed to their teacher," Jemma mutters as she follows.

Zane scoops Aiden up and plops him on his feet. "No, Aiden is going to be a very well-behaved boy." He raises his eyebrows, talking slowly and clearly so Aiden can absorb every word. "Aiden is going to listen to his teacher and be respectful."

"And Jalen is going to follow the lead of his best bud Aiden," Reeves adds with wide eyes, trying to hypnotize his own kid.

Jalen copies his expression for a second and then busts up laughing.

Reeves shrugs. "It was worth a shot."

A bell rings and the teachers start heading towards the doors, collecting children like lost sheep as they go.

"Oh, God, it's happening." Jemma drops to her knees in front of Jalen. I realize for the first time that Jemma's eyes are red and swollen. "My baby is going to his first day of school."

" Pre school," Jalen clarifies.

"Don't remind me," she sobs, pulling him in for a tight hug and kissing his face.

Zane hugs Aiden, whispering something I can't hear in his ear. Then Aiden whirls around and hugs my leg.

"Bye, Mira!"

Tears suddenly burn the backs of my eyes and I blink them back as I hug him. "Bye, buddy. Have a good first day."

I'm terrified for him to be out of my sight—but it's more than that, too.

We look like a family . No one here would look at us and think that we've only known Aiden for a month and that I'm the nanny. We look like a real family—and I never thought I'd have one of those.

As I watch Aiden and Jalen running into the building together, it hits me all at once: I love this little boy and his dad.

I love them and I want to stay with them, and I hate that I can feel the clock ticking down on our time together. The news this last week bumped the timeline way up.

I'm going to have to leave them soon, and I have no idea how to go about that.

Zane wraps his arm around my waist. "You're crying."

I wipe my tears away and roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, him going to school means I'm going to work less hours. I'm crying about my paycheck."

It's bullshit, and Zane knows it. He kisses my temple. "I'm going to ride to the arena with Reeves. Is it okay if Evan drives you home?"

"Yeah, that's okay." The thought of sitting around the condo all day makes me want to crawl out of my skin, but I don't have a lot of other options.

As if he can read my mind, Zane presses the keys to his Ferrari into my palm. "Get out of the house and do something for yourself."

Before I can argue, Zane kisses me. It's a perfectly respectful kiss to have in front of an elementary school. No tongue or thrusting or groping. But it still fries every single one of my nerve endings.

Then he walks off with Reeves, and all I can do is stare after him.

Jemma stands next to me, a watery smile on her face. "I just love young love."

"It's not love!" I punctuate the point with a hard jab.

Taylor yelps and draws her mitt back before I can even make contact.

"Would you hold still?" I growl, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I can't get a workout in if you keep dodging out of the way."

"Yeah, but dodging out of the way is how I keep you from snapping my wrists." She unstraps the mitts and throws them on the mat. "You're supposed to be sweating out your feelings, but I think you're even more repressed. I didn't know that was possible."

I didn't start the day this way. It was that damn school drop-off. I'm not Aiden's mom; I shouldn't have even been there. If I'd stayed home, then I wouldn't have seen the future I can never have dangled before my eyes.

Me, Zane, and Aiden… a family.

I don't even know what a normal family is. My twisted family is the reason I learned to defend myself in the first place.

Zane is interested in me now, but I won't need to run if he learns the truth; he'll send me packing himself.

"This was your idea," I remind her.

"Fine. Yeah. It was. But after half a second of this, I changed my mind. Whatever you're processing now is beyond the help of exercise endorphins. Maybe you should find Zane and—stick with me, hear me out—talk to him about why you're so upset you're willing to break your best friend's arms."

I scowl. "He's at practice, and I can't sit at home—er—at his condo all day by myself. I'll go crazy."

I expect Taylor to jump all over my slip-up. You're calling it your home! You love him! Talk to him, get married, and make a million babies.

Instead, she takes a deep breath, squeezes my arm, and looks deep in my eyes. "You need to go buy slutty underwear."

I jerk back. "Taylor, what the—" I dismiss the pointless question with a wave. "You know what, never mind. I don't know why I expected anything different from you."

She screws up her face. "I'll take that as the compliment I'm sure you intended it to be. Because I just gave you the surefire way to solve at least seventy-five percent of life's problems."

I'm afraid to even ask, but it's Taylor. Her brain should be studied and then left to float in a jar for decades because the knowledge it contains would be dangerous in the wrong hands. Not asking what she could possibly be talking about would be a disservice to the wider scientific community.

I throw my gloves in my duffel. "Okay, explain yourself."

"Boyfriend ignoring you?" she asks, a cheesy smile on her face. "Nothing slutty underwear can't fix. Boyfriend cheating on you? Make him regret it by breaking up with him in the skimpiest nightgown imaginable."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

She rolls her eyes. "Denial is not a good look on you. But you know what would be?"

"Slutty underwear," we say at the same time.

Taylor's advice is bad.

Don't get me wrong—I love her and her demented ways. She keeps things interesting. Plus, her brain is so full of skincare regimens and how to make every second of her life fun that she doesn't have the energy to stop and ask questions about why her best friend is reclusive and cagey and violently resistant to snapping selfies.

Which is exactly why she has no idea that the problems I'm facing now can't be solved with a shopping spree.

If the news about me and Zane doesn't die down, I won't just need to leave Zane—I'll need to leave everything behind. Everyone.

That grim reality aches. It gnaws at the scared little girl in my chest who just wants to know someone loves her.

Maybe that's why, when I leave the gym and climb into the driver's seat of Zane's Ferrari to head back to the condo, I turn in the opposite direction.

Taylor said denial was a bad look on me, but denial is the only reason I'm still here playing house. Denial is the only reason I haven't packed my very shitty suitcase and left town. Denial is the only reason I pull to a stop in front of the most boujee lingerie store in the city and walk inside.

My little house of cards is going to blow over sooner rather than later. But for today—for as many days as I can eke by undiscovered—slutty underwear is going to solve all of my problems.

I hope.